


Secrets From My American Dreams

by gelbes_gilatier



Series: this time baby I'll be bullet proof [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mission Fic, Party, Reunions, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers, on a mission in Moscow with Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, encounters an old friend. Or what is left of him, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets From My American Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/gifts).



> Not my first Avengers fic, but my first Steve Rogers fic and um, please be gentle? I'm finding him a little hard to write because he's so different from me so... how did I do?

** Secrets From My American Dreams **

_“And we can whisper things_  
 _Secrets from my America dreams_  
 _Baby needs some protection_  
 _But I'm a kid like everyone else_  
  
 _So let me go_  
 _I don't wanna be your hero_  
 _I don't wanna be a big man_  
 _Just wanna fight with everyone else.”_

_Family of the Year, “Hero”_

 So it’s Russia. He tries not to think of Bucky and the words Winder Soldier and he’s reasonably successful. He just has to remind himself not to ask Romanoff about Bucky or anything connected to her training as a Russian spy. Or any of her past at all, which is pretty easy. Romanoff’s past terrifies him and allegedly, Bucky’s a big part of that.

 It’s stupid, being terrified of someone’s past. Our past does not define us, he knows that. He knew it before he was frozen and he received enough proof of it after they woke him up. Stark with his alcoholic party animal past who worships the ground Ms. Potts walks on and Barton with his shady circus and Army past who does not let the dark in all of that crush him.

 But Romanoff. He _wants_ to trust her, so much, with every fiber of his heart because intellectually he knows that everything they say about her and questionable loyalties on the helicarrier is garbage at best. In his heart, though… he’s not convinced.

 It can’t be her background as a Russian because when he went to sleep, the Russian were well suffered Allies and he slept through the entire Cold War and it can’t be that she’s a woman because honestly, he might be from the Forties but independent women who can hold their own in a fight are not an invention of the 21st century. It has to be something else.

 Or _someone_ else.

 Well, there’s no use in moping, seeing as he’s on the job and Barton and Romanoff are counting on him. They’re in the American embassy in Moscow, trying to find a lead on a figure called the Winter Soldier. It’s a reception for some dignitary or other and he’s here as himself, kind of a decoy for Barton and Romanoff who are scouting the room incognito, Romanoff in one of those evening gowns that must cost a fortune and Barton as one of the waiters.

 He’s in the contemporary Class A dress uniform of a US Army captain and he has difficulties getting used to it. He hasn’t been wearing any other uniform than his Captain America costume most of the time on the helicarrier and he’d started to get used to walking around like a civilian but Agent Hill had insisted on the dress uniform.

 After all a decoy that doesn’t draw attention is essentially worthless.

 So, how long will he have to mill and accept praise, censure and now and then an indecent proposition for his part in the battle of New York, now? It’s not that he doesn’t know that it’s all part and parcel of the whole secret mission thing , it’s just that he’s just here to lure out the Winter Soldier in case it really is James “Bucky” Barnes. He doesn’t believe it, _can’t_ believe it, but the evidence that Hill had presented in the briefing for this mission seemed to be overwhelming. He’d never thought he’d have preferred for one of his friends from the Forties to be long gone.

 The Winter Soldier has been an issue for months now, probable even years but no one could ever find any trails. He was a mythological figure, something like the monster of Loch Ness or the Yeti and he was an excuse for anything that went wrong with a mission. Until six months ago when a field team accidentally stumbled over a flash drive that a Russian officer had left on their plane.

 Of course both Barton and Romanoff immediately figured that there was nothing accidental about the way they came about fragments of a personnel record and bad quality pictures of a guy with long hair, a mask over the lower half of his face and apparently, a mechanical arm. He’d agreed with them, even though the name Barnes appeared twice in the records – or maybe _because_ it did. Someone _wanted_ that team to find the flash drive and now they’re here and he’s playing bait and hoping to God that the man in the pictures won’t show up.

 “’Scuse me, sir… might I get an autograph?” What? “Sir?”

 Oh, right, Barton. Time for their first check in, obviously. He clears his throat, trying to make it look like he’s trying to find something to write with on the napkin Barton is holding up. “Sure. Uh, let me look for a moment…”

 Barton effortlessly plays along, making it look like he just realized what an idiot he was for not supplying a pen as well while telling him, “You gotta be aware of your surroundings more, Cap. There’s at least a dozen spies of about twenty agencies in the room and they’d all like to know why you’re here.”

 He knew that. He’s not dumb, okay. “We’re supplying them with ample reasons, I hope?”

 At that, Barton grins and produces a pen out of his chest pocket. “You bet we are. Aren’t we, Nat?”

 “I am, at least.” The slightly annoyed voice of Agent Romanoff filters through their ear pieces and Barton gives him another grin.

 He throws a short look down at the bar where she’s sitting in a dark blue floor length evening gown that looks like the only things keeping it on her body are sheer will and a prayer, sipping on a glass of champagne. Even from the distance, she gives off an air of bored elegance and sophistication, scaring away a good portion of the smarter men in the room. The not so smart ones… well.

 “You know, Tasha, if you really can’t get rid of that BND type…”

 “You should be dead.” What? All of a sudden, there’s a guy next to her, with his back to them. He wears his black hair in a ponytail and Romanoff’s voice just gave off the slightest hint of a hitch and discomfort.

 “So should you,” he can hear the Winter Soldier reply, tone of his voice matching his name and sounding so much like Bucky at the same time that he nearly has to lean against the column behind him. It’s like double vision, disturbing and frightening.

 Barton next to him doesn’t seem to be perturbed at all, just concentrating on the exchange and they hear Romanoff say, “Cold War kids are hard to kill, Barnes.”

 “Under their desks in an air raid drill, yeah, yeah.” Laughter filters through their ear pieces, short and laced with cynicism that doesn’t sound like Bucky at all and for a moment, he can tell himself that it’s not his best friend sitting at the bar with Romanoff. “Billy Joel, Natasha? I’m truly disappointed.”

 “What do you want?” And here he thought Romanoff is one of the more subtle types. He throws Barton a look but the archer doesn’t seem to be concerned yet.

 “Why,” the Winter Soldier says and _that_ sounds so much like Bucky that he knows what’s going to come next, “how about a dance, for starters?”

 Yep, that’s what he thought. It was Bucky’s charmer voice, the one he tried to use on every girl they met, except Peggy Carter and that was because he was afraid of her, just like everyone else.

 Romanoff changes her posture, accepting his hand to help her down the barstool and lead her over to the dance floor. Next to him, Barton stiffens, just for a moment but as soon as Romanoff makes a small gesture with her right hand, twirling her index finger once when she puts it into the Winter Soldier’s, the tension in Barton seems to be gone, replaced with the posture that he learned to recognized as Barton’s alertness posture.

 On the floor, the band strikes up a slow tune and the singer starts singing a sultry ballad, something in Russian that he can’t understand and Romanoff and the Winter Soldier start dancing or rather clutching each other, swaying to and fro to the music and he has to say something, anything and the first thing that comes to his mind is a rather stupid, “Do you get jealous sometimes, Barton?”

 Barton shakes his head but keeps staring intently on the couple on the floor. “Nah, got no reason.”

 For some reason, he just can’t believe that. It has nothing to do with having been raised in the first half of the 20th century and everything with getting to know both Barton and Romanoff a lot better over the last several months. They’re… very subtle but he has seen people hit on Romanoff or Barton on the helicarrier and the respective other react to it. It never was pretty. So maybe something is riding him today and he can’t help pushing this a little further. “Not even when Agent Romanoff is dancing in a way that we used to call scandalous with him?”

 It’s probably _still_ scandalous, judging from the wide berth people are giving Romanoff and the Winter Soldier on the dance floor and the two or three pearl clutching diplomats’ wives he has seen from their viewpoint from the gallery. But it’s just like Bucky to show off and do the dipping thing along with letting his hand wander down to Romanoff’s behind once or twice.

 Barton just shrugs but keeps watching. “Not the first time she’s doing this. There’s a reason they call her the Black Widow, you know.”

 He knew that, of course. He just never bothered with finding out what _exactly_ the reason was. He clears his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Never mind.” Well, yes, he does mind. He likes to think that he purposefully remains ignorant of the reason why they like to call Romanoff Black Widow but all of a sudden, yes, he does mind. Barton, however, does him the favor of not letting him actually say it, adding,  “And no, I’m not jealous. She’s going to go to the debriefing with  _me_  after all.”

 “If there actually _is_ a debriefing, Agent Barton.” Holy _shit_ , what just happened? “You didn’t think I wouldn’t be able to tap into your radio system, did you?”

 Romanoff and the Winter Soldier have left the dance floor and he can see them walking up the steps to the gallery, Romanoff still on the Winter Soldier’s arm and it’s the double vision thing all over again. The man next to her looks nothing like Bucky at all and just like that man who was his best friend back in 1942. He can’t even say how exactly, just that he nearly chokes when he says, now with no filters, “Don’t you want to introduce me to your friends, Natasha?”

 Looking cool and composed and very beautiful in her gown from close up, Romanoff replies, “I would, but it seems you already know everyone,” sounding far too calm for his taste.

 The Winter Soldier smirks, like a ghost wearing Bucky’s face. “Point taken. Now, Natasha, Agent Barton, might you excuse us for a moment?”

 Neither Barton nor Romanoff move an inch and he’s pretty sure Barton is already calculating the distance between the Winter Soldier and himself to find the best way to down him with a shot from the firearm he’s no doubt carrying around with him. They’re smart, his comrades in arms, but they know nothing about old friends and suddenly being handed a lifeline to a life he thought had been over long ago. A life he missed, still, after everything.

 He doesn’t clear his throat. “It’s alright, Agents. I’ll be just a minute.”

 They still don’t budge and a dangerous tone creeps into the Winter Soldier’s voice when he says, “Listen to the Captain, people. He’s the smartest man in the room.”

 Whatever that is supposed to mean. But he can see the short look exchanged between Barton and Romanoff and as always, the amount of telepathic communication that must be going on between the two of them astounds him. After another moment of some silent conference, they both back off a few steps behind him, and he wonders if they feel just as uneasy as he does.

 Probably not but still, a man can hope.

 “Okay,” he says when the Winter Soldier keeps silent after the agents retreated, “what do you want, Winter Soldier?”

 The man opposite him shrugs, again looking so much like Bucky that it hurts. “That’s not how you were taught how to talk to old, long lost friends, Steve, was it?”

 He can’t deal with this. He just can’t and he has to. “I’d prefer Captain Rogers, sir.”

 “Captain Rogers, sir.” The Winter Soldier gives him a hollow laugh. “Never thought you’d address _me_ with that.”

 He wants to ask the Winter Soldier what he wants again but he hates sounding like a broken record so he just looks at the man opposite and tries to forget that this is a man who would have died for him, a man _he_ would have died for. In his back, Barton and Romanoff must still be standing, ready to take down this ghost of the Cold War but he doubts they’d have much of a chance.

 He has every confidence in their abilities as spies and infiltrators but when it comes down it, neither the Winter Soldier nor Bucky are subtle men that appreciate the finesse of spies and infiltrators. The man opposite him is a soldier, and it takes one to take one down. This is his show, he realizes that just now.

 “We’re not here for chit chat. _What_ do you want?” As it happens, he also realized that he doesn’t care about the broken record anymore. He just wants answers, and _fast_.

 There’s no change in posture or facial expression, but for a moment it feels as if he managed to score a hit on the Winter Soldier. It feels a lot better than it should. Then, “To see an old friend, Steve.”

 He doesn’t believe him, doesn’t _want_ to believe him. Only this was the first time that there was a spark of something else than mocking in it, something _honest_ and _hurt_ and _Bucky_. He needs to finish up here and fast. “Why?”

 Which is _not_ the best way to finish something fast, even he knows that and he’s pretty sure that if Romanoff were any bit less of a professional as she is, she’d probably have groaned behind his back.

 The Winter Soldier just looks at him, all serious and not a trace of mocking left. “Maybe because I missed that friend for nearly seventy years. Hasn’t occurred to you yet, has it?” It’s not fair. He wasn’t even awake for most of those seventy years and yet, the Winter Soldier managed to find that one pressure point that would hurt. Ever since they told him who they think the Winter Soldier is and how he became that, he’d been wondering if he could have prevented it if he hadn’t crashed the plane, if he could have saved Bucky from what they did to him, what they made him into. Ever since that moment… “Or maybe just because I wanted you to be tied down when I do _this_.”

 What… a raised hand with a remote in it, a shot bouncing off the metallic hand, a click, an explosion rocking the building and suddenly all hell breaks loose. Terrified shrieks and furious screams everywhere and faster than he ever expected him to be, the Winter Soldier sprints past him, past Barton and Romanoff and it takes him a moment to hear Romanoff shouting at him to get the civilians to safety and do what he can, she’d take care of the Winter Soldier and would he please just _get the fuck going_ from Barton and he’s almost grateful for something to do, almost grateful for Romanoff being the one taking off after the Winter Soldier because he probably wouldn’t be accountable for anything if he’d have to face the man now.

 So he goes into soldier mode, shuts off doubts and reservations, gets _shit_ done as Stark would say and it’s the only thing he _can_ do right now or he might go insane over everything. It’s something he can’t afford now or ever and so he’s a good little tin soldier and does the easy things, the rescuing and the heavy lifting and the general heroics. The hard part is what’s gonna come later, he knows that but right now, not thinking too much is all that matters and so he does and does and does. Nothing else left to do but do his duty and he’d always been good at that. He won’t fail now or ever. It is, after all, the only thing he can still trust in, isn’t it?


End file.
